


Valar Tymatis

by RhllorsWastedBard (SaintEpithet)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical language, Crack, Dumb Cunts, Dungeons & Dragons References, Episode: s07e06 Beyond the Wall, Gen, Humor, Parody, Pyrophobia, everyone is IC and OOC at the same time, game mechanics, leaning on the 4th wall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:52:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintEpithet/pseuds/RhllorsWastedBard
Summary: The Westeros Allstars sit in a tavern and play the popular pen and paper game "Cunts & Dragons". Dungeon Master Sam Tarly sadly lost some notes for his overambitious campaign "Beyond The Wall", but that has never stopped anyone.





	1. Prologue - Character Creation

The winds of winter were howling outside the tavern, down the Kingsroad and across frozen fields. Winter was certainly coming, as the barkeep kept reminding every patron stumbling through the door on their escape from the harsh weather.

Three men sat on a table in the corner, near the large fireplace, brooding over stacked rule books. The table was scattered with dice and sheets of paper, between mugs of ale.

“Winter can come,” one of them declared and put his pencil down. “I gave my cleric Flame Blade and Resurrection. Freezing to death my ass.” He leaned over to peek at his friend's sheet. “The fuck, man? You seriously roll a thief? Why?” he asked once he could see what was written on it.

His friend looked up and adjusted his eye patch. “What?” He shrugged. “Clerics have shit APR, one of us has to have reasonable DPS.”

The first man sighed. “With a fucking thief? You won't live long enough to do much damage. Your armor class will be a total joke.”

Again, his friend shrugged. “I have my backstab multiplier, Poison Weapon and stealth. I don't need armor.”

Now the third man looked up from the rule book he was reading. “Thoros has a point,” he said. “The campaign will have a ton of undead enemies. They're immune to backstab and poison.”

Thoros laughed triumphantly. “So much for your thief, Beric.”

Beric grumbled and regarded his sheet for a moment. “I thought you said that's where the campaign _ends_. We still have to fight living enemies before that.” He looked to Thoros. “And clerics with their shit APR don't help us through that.”

Thoros furrowed his brows. “You'll be glad I picked Resurrection when you're dead after being waylaid by bandits.”

Beric shook his head. “Not if I do the waylaying. We'll swim in loot.”

Thoros rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You want to play a thief to waylay low level mobs? What about the bosses? We'll be royally fucked once everything is immune to your skills.”

Beric dropped his pencil and huffed. “What do you suggest I play then, priest? Don't say monk, it's not going to happen!”

“If I may?” the third man spoke up again. Beric and Thoros both shrugged; who were they to dismiss the Dungeon Master that took the time to write the campaign. “Paladin. Can't waylay bandits, but you have the DPS and decent armor class from the start, and later get some divine magic. You can probably pick Lay Hands before you get to the undead.”

Thoros nodded in agreement, but Beric didn't seem convinced. “Lay Hands sucks,” he said. “Thoros already has Resurrection. Why would I even need some shitty minor heal if my armor class is so good?”

Thoros grabbed a book and flipped through it, then found the page he was looking for. “Here's a list of deities Paladins can pick. There's probably one with a better spell.” Beric pulled the book closer and studied the page for a while. The Dungeon Master exchanged a brief glance with Thoros and gave him a quick nod, then buried his face in his own book again. Beric now seemed more amused by the Paladin idea than annoyed by the suggestion.

"You know what?” he said, still chuckling. “I'll be a Paladin of R'hllor. And take Flame Blade, too. Because fuck you.”

 

**3 weeks (and 6 sessions) later**

 

The Dungeon Master sighed and reached for his ale. He drank, sighed again and eyed the dice on the table. “Thoros of Myr's Resurrection succeeds, Beric Dondarrion is alive. _Again_.”

Beric quietly laughed into his ale, Thoros shot him a mildly annoyed glance from the side. “How many times have you brought me back now?” Beric asked, still amused.

“Five,” Thoros sighed, then corrected himself. “No, six, with this one.”

The DM put down his mug. “Seriously, what's wrong with you? I'm getting tired of rephrasing your devil may care kamikaze attacks into 'glorious deaths in honorable battle'. I told you that you can help the commoners, but _without_ waylaying bandits!”

Beric leaned back and nodded. “Okay, okay, I stop. But Thoros really doesn't help much in battles. It's not my fault he's playing support even though we don't have a tank. I can do the damage _or_ protect the healer, but not both at once!”

The Dungeon Master slowly nodded and looked over to the door. “I thought the same thing,” he said. “I met a guy who is interested in playing. He was supposed to be here an hour ago, to play the last enemy who killed you. Guess his horse froze or something.”

Thoros looked at him, a bit puzzled. “That enemy was supposed to be a tank?”

The Dungeon Master shrugged. “Not really, but he's a fighter with good armor class and weapon mastery in Long Sword. Still better than nothing, and I couldn't talk him into playing a straight up tank.”

Beric groaned. “Oh, great. Some rando can play whatever he wants, but I can't be a thief!”

 

The Dungeon Master's acquaintance, Sandor, had finally arrived and was filling out his character sheet while the others took a break to order another round. “I respec a little,” Sandor said. “I was told the campaign has a big boss fight beyond the wall. If I'm to tank a bit for you cunts, I need better cold resistance.”

Beric leaned over to see what Sandor was writing. “Why the hell did you pick Premonition as talent? That doesn't work in combat.”

Sandor shrugged and kept writing. “I'm a roleplayer, you cunt. It's for my back story.”

Throros put down the tray with their mugs and sat back down. “Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “I could only afford Resurrection by taking the Alcoholic flaw to balance it. Really enhances my back story.”

Beric rolled his eye. “I had a _great_ back story for my thief. But no, I have to be a Paladin. Had to re-write that completely.” He took the mug Thoros handed him and raised it. “To still not having met any undead enemies!”

 


	2. Beric uses Summon Phoenix

**3 weeks (and 2 sessions) later**

 

“Sorry I'm late, guys,” the DM apologized when he sat down at the usual table. “My other group has some scheduling issues. They are on a similar campaign though, so I figured I can merge the groups.”Sandor grunted and poured down his ale, Thoros and Beric shrugged. Four men approached the table when the DM waved them over. They pulled off chairs and sat down with the others. “That's Jon, playing a Ranger,” the DM began to introduce the new arrivals. “Tormund, Barbarian. Jorah, Fallen Paladin and Gendry...”

“Wait, what?” Thoros interrupted and he and Beric turned to look at the last person the DM had introduced. “Dude, that's the guy who 'joined' our last campaign and then never showed up again because he got a girlfriend!” Thoros said angrily.

“Look, I'm sorry, guys. I really want to play! I'm so over her!” Gendry apologized. “I swear I'll show up from now on!”

Beric reached for the character sheet Gendry had put on the table and read it. After a brief pause, he looked up in disbelief. “The fuck? You want to play _this_? What is this even?”

Gendry shrugged. “Warrior with mastery path in War Hammer. What's wrong with that?”

Thoros leaned over to look at the sheet himself, then back to Gendry. “That you put _all_ other points in Crafting. That's what's wrong with it.”

Gendry took his character sheet back and covered it with his hands. “It's my first campaign. I thought it might come in handy,” he said defensively.

 

Sandor had quietly studied the other new players and listened to the conversation. Now he leaned over the table to grab the three other character sheets. “Just making sure these cunts aren't all crafters, too,” he said.

Thoros and Beric nodded in agreement and Sandor handed each of them a sheet to read, then skimmed over the remaining one. “Great, a minmaxer,” he sighed a moment later and glared at Tormund. “Dump stat Intelligence. That should be good.”

Tormund shrugged. “I'm not a minmaxer. I've just played campaigns beyond the wall before. I know it's a waste to put anything in Intelligence. The undead aren't very talkative.”

Sandor sarcastically laughed at that. “Sure, not a minmaxer. You just happen to have all points in Dual Weapon Mastery and Two-Handed Weapon Mastery for roleplay reasons, right?”

Tormund crossed his arms. “I don't. I also have one in Charm Wild Animal: Bear.”

Sandor studied the sheet again and to his surprise, he found out there was indeed a point. “At least you're trying,” he said and gave the sheet back to Tormund.

“Wish I could say the same.” Beric handed him Jon's sheet. “A Ranger without Ranged Weapons Mastery and Animal Companion: Direwolf is crossed out.” He looked over to Jon, who was busy drinking his ale and looking distressed.

“Cost was too high,” he gave back. “I could only summon it once per session.”

Beric sighed. “And you took what instead, Grand Mastery Long Sword?”

Jon nodded. “Got a Long Sword +5 in the last campaign. Can as well use it.”

Now Thoros chimed in. “That's all fine and dandy, but your Fallen Paladin buddy here has Long Sword Mastery, too. You could give him the sword and respec to Crossbow or something. That way, we have least some ranged DPS and...”

 

“Absolutely not!” Jorah shook his head even before Thoros had finished. “Jon got the sword from my character's father. He asked me to take it, but I'm dishonored. I had to reject his offer to gain +2 rep.”

Thoros sighed, but he nodded. “At least one of you is a real roleplayer. Better than nothing... Wait, am I the only one playing Support?”

“No.” That was Jon, who now nodded half-heartedly to Gendry. “Guess he counts as Support, too.”

 

**2 hours later**

 

After some early quarrels, the group had finally managed to progress beyond the wall and was now exploring the new area. “Your scout reports seeing a Polar Bear,” the DM informed them. “It is very aggressive and when you get closer, you can see it is also undead.”

“Fucking finally!” Beric leaned back and reached for his ale. “I thought we'd never find any undead enemies.”

The DM gave him a reproachful glance. “I like to take my time with my campaigns. What do you do?” Jon, Tormund and Jorah simultaneously reached for the dice to roll for attacks, Gendry looked confused.

“Beric uses Summon Phoenix,” Beric calmly replied.

Sandor slammed his mug on the table. “The fuck? You can't do that!” He dropped the dice he had picked up to roll for initiative and pushed them to Gendry instead.

“Oh, right. Beric can't play a thief, Beric can't waylay mercenaries, Beric can't summon a fucking phoenix!” Beric mocked him.

“Thoros uses Flame Blade,” Thoros interrupted.

“Beric uses Flame Blade,” Beric echoed.

“You can't fucking do that, you cunt!” Sandor got up, shouting now.

“Actually, he can do _that,_ ” the DM firmly said and Sandor's eyes immediately jumped to him. “And you need to do your saving throw against Panic.”

“Do I have to do that, too?” Gendry inquired and earned a collective sigh.

“No,” the DM said. “He had to take Pyrophobic as flaw to afford the Minor Regeneration perk. It's a costly perk and the Disfigurement flaw alone wasn't enough to balance it. So he has to save against panic whenever he sees fire. It was either that or Greyscale flaw.”

Tormund looked puzzled now and regarded Sandor for a moment. “So... You joined a group where everyone has Flame Blade, and took a flaw that makes you panic when you see fire? Isn't that... kind of... stupid?”

Thoros and Beric silently nodded in agreement. Sandor huffed and was about to go around the table to grab Tormund.

“Stop that childish bullshit!” the DM tried to hold him back, but Sandor was already halfway there. “If you don't stop, I let your healer die!” the DM tried again, without success.

“Wait, why do I die because he picked a dumb skill?!” Thoros interjected.

“Yeah, kill off the useless crafter if you have to be random!” Beric agreed.

“I'm the DM!” the DM explained, but it was too late and Sandor had grabbed Tormund by his shirt.

“A DM who has to say he is the DM is no DM at all,” Jon mumbled into his beard, but was collectively ignored.

“Thoros is attacked by the Polar Bear! _And_ the Polar Bear is on fire!” the DM threatened.

Finally, Sandor let go of Tormund. “Alright, alright, you made your point. Fucking cunt.”

 

“You should have picked Lay Hands,” Thoros grumbled.

“Oh, now it's somehow _my_ fault the so-called tank can't handle random wildlife encounters.” Beric picked up the dice. “Why did _you_ need Flame Blade as Support anyway?” He rolled to cauterize Thoros' wound and the blossoming argument stopped when he succeeded.

“Why did the minmaxed cunt over there not use his Charm Wild Animal ability?” Sandor turned to Tormund.

“Can we just move on?” Jorah sighed and scribbled on his sheet, calculating how much XP he had received from the kill.

“Because I'm a Barbarian!” Tormund answered anyway. “I'd need Turn Undead for an undead bear. Why didn't your oh so divine buddies pick that ability?”

Jon slammed his mug on the table. “At least his oh so divine buddies tried to kill the bear, instead of pondering its attractiveness,” he said, then turned to the DM. “Do we have any scouts left?”

 


	3. Sandor uses Premonition

The DM nodded and flipped through his notes, but couldn't find the one that kept track of NPCs. “Yeah, the bear only killed one. You still have... two. Or three, maybe.”

Jon nodded. “I send one of them to the outcropping ahead of us to see what's in the path below.”

The DM picked up another note, quickly glanced over it, then nodded and said: “You see a group of undead. A handful of wights and one White Walker. It appears to be a scouting party.”

 

“Gendry is fascinated by snow,” Gendry said and everyone else instantly looked at him in confusion. “What?” Gendry shrugged. “I'm _roleplaying_ ,” he said and earned collective eyerolling.

“Beric uses Flame Blade,” Beric moved on and Sandor's annoyance with Gendry found a new target.

“You just have to do that all the fucking time, don't you?” he grumbled and rolled against Panic.

“Calm down, man,” Jorah sighed. “It's a good plan to make a fire and lure the undead to a position where we can sneak up on them.”

Beric nodded. “Exactly. We'll waylay those motherfuckers.” Now Thoros joined Sandor's eyerolling efforts, but the rest of the group was on board with the plan, so he didn't say anything.

 

There was no reason to complain, as it soon turned out. The group's sneak attack was a real success, with Jon proving his choice of weapon mastery wasn't a total waste, as he landed the critical hit on the White Walker. “The remaining enemies shatter into tiny pieces of ice,” the DM concluded the battle scene. “Except one.” Everyone looked at him in confusion.

“No offense, but that's... kinda cheap,” Jorah finally said. “You could have given the rest of us some kills, too.”

Everyone but Sandor nodded. “Meh, that was just one mob. Won't be the last one,” he said. “Sandor tackles the remaining wight.” He rolled and succeeded in throwing the enemy to the ground.

“The wight struggles and bites your hand, but you manage to capture it,” the DM narrated the result of the dice roll. “It shrieks and you hear many more enemies approaching from the distance.”

The group thought about that for a moment, considering the XP they would get if they brought the captured wight back to the quest giver.

“I say we attack,” Gendry said. “I want some kills, too.”

Sandor shook his head. “Sandor has a premonition,” he said. “We must send someone to get help. Only Gendry is fast enough to make it.”

Jon, who had been discussing with Jorah, looked up to him now. “Seriously? Ten minutes ago, he was 'fascinated by snow' and now you think he'll even find the way?”

Gendry huffed. “Do I look like _my_ Intelligence is 3? I can totally get back to Eastwatch!”

The DM looked around the group, waiting for a decision. When nobody protested, Jon shrugged. “Alright, let Gendry go for help then.”

Sandor took the dice. “Sandor loots Gendry's War Hammer +1.”

Gendry huffed. “You can't loot me! I'm not dead!”

Sandor gave him a humorless smile. “Not yet,” he said and rolled.

 

The DM was about to protest, but the rest of the group had no objections and the roll succeeded. Gendry grudgingly crossed his arms and leaned back. “Fine, have the stupid hammer. I'll just craft myself a new one.”

Sandor laughed. “Yeah, if you ever make it back to Eastwatch, you dumb cunt.”

Gendry huffed and flipped the pair of dice away with one finger. Everyone stared in disbelief, even the DM. “Natural 20, now that's lucky,” he said. “Gendry runs toward Eastwatch. What does the rest of you do?”

Thoros emptied his mug. “Thoros drinks wine,” he said and earned an irritated glance from Sandor.

“What is around us?” Jorah asked and reached for Gendry's dice.

“Mountains to the North,” the DM replied. “Some smaller rocks and a lot of snow in every direction. According to Tormund's back story, he knows this area.”

Tormund triumphantly laughed. “Tormund runs toward the frozen lake hidden under the snow.”

The DM furrowed his brow. “I didn't say there is a lake.”

Tormund shrugged. “I said there is. That's where we go. To the rock island in the middle of the lake.”

“Wait, not so fast!” the DM tried to protest. “I also didn't say there...”

Tormund ignored him and rolled the dice.

“What are you rolling for?” Jon asked.

“If the ice breaks,” Tormund said.

“I still didn't say there is a lake!” the DM tried again, but he didn't get far.

“There.” Tormund grinned. “Saved against drowning. Looks like we make it.” He passed the dice to Jon, whose roll succeeded as well.

The DM sighed and shrugged. “Alright. If you _all_ save against drowning, you make it to the rock island.”

Tormund nodded and watched one roll succeed after another. “See? I told you there's a lake and a rock island!” he cheerfully said after everyone had saved.

The DM grumbled into his beard. “That's not how I had planned this, but okay...” He took his notes and flipped through some pages. “You manage to reach the island, but another of your scouts dies and Thoros is really fucked up now,” he said. “Also, the horde of undead is still after you.”

Sandor smugly smiled. “Sandor attacks the ice with his War Hammer +1,” he said and rolled.

Again, the DM sighed when he saw the result. “The ice breaks and the undead gather around the lake.”

 


	4. Gendry uses Raven Messenger

**3 weeks (and 2 sessions) later**

 

“Jorah draws a Tic Tac Toe game in the snow,” Jorah sighed.

“Jon refuses Jorah's invitation to play Tic Tac Toe,” Jon gave back and continued to brood.

Jorah's gaze wandered to Tormund. “Tormund doesn't know this game,” he answered the unspoken question.

“Beric threatens to hold a speech about his deity if disturbed in any way.” Beric glared at Jorah and only continued to read a random rule book when Jorah turned to Thoros.

“Thoros is way too drunk to offer a honorable warrior like you a real challenge,” he said.

“Sandor draws nine fucking Xs on Jorah's game and he'll draw two more where Jorah's eyes are if he is asked one more fucking time to play a stupid game,” Sandor answered the inevitable challenge, then turned to the DM: “We've been sitting on this fucking rock for ages now. How about giving us something to do, you lazy cunt?”

The DM answered with a sad attempt at a smug smile. “If Tormund hadn't invented the rock, you wouldn't be sitting on it.” Then he went back to scribble on his campaign notes and Sandor tried to stare a hole in his head.

“I can't thank you enough for your premonition.” Gendry grinned and leaned back. “I'm chilling here at Eastwatch, crafting hammers left and right and I would be just as bored as you if you hadn't told me to get help.” He petted the raven sitting on the table in front of him, then took a sip from his ale.

“You look bored enough to me,” Thoros gave back, looking at the raven. “I don't see you crafting anything. You've been texting for hours.”

Beric huffed and shot Gendry and the bird a snide glance. “Bet he's texting his girlfriend and abandons the party as soon as she asks him to come over to Dragonstone. Again.”

Gendry smiled and shook his head. “Actually, I texted _Jon's_ girlfriend. She has a level 13 wizard. Best I could think of to save your asses.”

Jon reluctantly paused in his brooding. “She's not my girlfriend, okay? I just know her through some mutual friends.”

 

Now the DM looked up from his notes and turned to Gendry. “Did she reply?”

Gendry shrugged, picked up the raven and checked if it held a scroll. “Not yet,” he gave back. “Maybe still at work.” The DM frowned, looking disappointed, and returned to his notes.

“Jorah challenges Jon to an arm wrestling match,” Jorah said. Jon pretended to not hear him, the rest of the group sighed. Thoros fished a peanut from the almost empty snack bowl and flipped it at the DM's head. No reaction.

Jorah was about to redirect his challenge, but Thoros had enough and just got up. “Well, if you're not giving us anything to do, I'm out of here. I'll be over by the pool table if you change your mind.”

That got the DM's attention. “If you leave, I let your character die, you know that, right?” he asked, trying to sound threatening, with questionable success.

Thoros shrugged. “At least I don't have to roleplay sitting on a fucking rock with nothing to do anymore if I'm dead,” he said and went to the pool table.

Beric closed his book and glared at the DM. “If you do this, I let your healer die. If you do that, I let your healer die,” he mocked. “What are you going to threaten us with now, genius?”

The DM huffed and covered his notes with both hands, so Jon and Tormund would stop peeking at them. “I'm almost done rewriting the campaign, okay?”

Sandor grabbed the now empty snack bowl and threw it at the DM. “Sandor throws a rock at the slow cunt across the lake,” he said and rolled the dice.

“You hit the 'cunt', but only do minor damage,” the DM gave back through gritted teeth. “ _Very_ minor damage.”

Beric picked up the dice. “Beric uses Flame Blade to burn Thoros' body,” he said and Sandor sighed and rolled against Panic.

“I can hear you,” Thoros commented from the pool table. “And I'm very touched you take the time to mourn me.”

 

Now Jon woke up from his intense brooding trance. “You want to come back as a zombie?” he asked. When Thoros shook his head and turned his attention back to the pool game, Jon shot a brief glare to the DM, who still scribbled on his notes. Jon turned to Beric. “How about darts?”

“No, no, you can't leave!” the DM quickly dropped his pencil. “Just give me five minutes, okay?” Then a dice hit his head, hard, and Sandor shook his head.

“No. Either you make something happen _now_ or you won't be around anymore in five minutes, you fucking cunt.”

The DM defensively covered his head with his arm. “Okay, okay, your rock hits the enemy and drops to the ice. The undead realize the lake is frozen and the ice is thick enough to march now. And they ALL come at you!”

“Sandor attacks the ice with his War Hammer +1,” Sandor calmly replied.

“No!” the rest of the group shouted at him.

“You really want to sit on this damn island for another two sessions?!” Jorah asked.

Sandor dropped the dice he had picked up and shook his head. “Seven Hells, no. I meant... Sandor swings the War Hammer at the undead!”

 


	5. Tormund uses Common Sense

“Put the damn hammer away already! It doesn't do enough damage and you only risk hitting the ice again.”  
  
Jorah watched with annoyance and disbelief when Sandor kept swinging at the undead.  
  
“Undead shouldn't be immune to Crushing Damage,” Thoros chimed in from the pool table. “But I guess _someone_ lost that page of the rule book along with the campaign notes.”  
  
“Shut up, you're dead!” the DM grumbled and tried to catch some notes that went flying off the table. “They aren't immune, but you need enchanted weapons to crit them!”  
  
“Beric uses Flame...” Beric began and was immediately interrupted by Sandor. “One more time and I crit you, you cunt! Your healer is dead, better don't piss me off!”  
  
“Stop arguing!” Jon angrily stared at Sandor. “Jorah is right. Switch weapon, we didn't give everyone a Dragonglass Dagger +3 vs. Undead for nothing.”  
  
“If I had rolled a thief, I'd have Weapon Mastery Dagger by now.” Beric glared at the DM, who had finally gathered most of his pages from the floor.  
  
“Sandor switches to Dragonglass Dagger +3 and throws his Warhammer +1 at Beric,” Sandor said.  
  
“The hammer misses Beric and instead knocks a big hole in the ice,” the DM smugly gave back when he saw Sandor's roll. Beric snickered into his ale. “Beric uses Flame Blade, Flame Halo, Flaming Hands and Flame...”  
  
“SHUT UP!” Sandor got up from his chair while the rest of the party sighed. Only Tormund opted for a more hands on approach to stop the blossoming bar room brawl and got up to grab Sandor's collar.  
  
“Look, it's not his fault that you were dumb enough to pick Pyrophobic. At least his weapon does damage and he's not attacking allies left and right. We let you loot the stupid hammer already, trap us on the fucking rock _and_ get the entire army of undead marching at once. How about doing something useful for a change?!”  
  
“Now look who's talking!” Sandor barked back. “Mister 3 Intelligence is telling me what to do!”  
  
Jon sighed, brooded for a moment to restore his energy, then ducked under the two men grabbing each other's collars across the table to reach the dice. “Looks like it's up to us,” he said, exchanging a quick glance with Jorah and Beric.  
  
“At least I don't act like 3 Intelligence, cockhead!” Tormund glared at Sandor, who still hadn't released him.  
  
“Dickhead,” Sandor calmly corrected.  
  
“Dick?” Tormund gave him a quizzical look.  
  
“Dick. Not cock. You cunt.” Sandor's grip loosened.  
  
“Dick,” Tormund thoughtfully repeated. “I like it. You dickhead.” He smiled.  
  
“I bet you do,” Sandor sighed and finally let go of the collar to sit back down.  
  
“Can we please kill some enemies now?” Jon pleaded. “If we take them out one by one, we'll still stand on this stupid rock in three weeks.”  
  
“Can't we just rush the dude on the hill who created all the undead?” Beric turned to the DM. “It worked earlier, Jon just needs a critical hit and boom, done.”  
  
The DM answered with his best attempt at a smug smile since the campaign had begun. “Well, you can try,” he said. “But I won't make that easy and I should remind you that your healer is dead and playing pool.”  
  
“I say we go for it anyway.” Jorah shrugged. “I rather go out in a blaze of glory and redemption than stand around for another three weeks.” The rest of the party nodded in unison and the DM's smile grew a bit more smug.  
  
“All the undead rush at your position!” he declared. “Every last one of them, except the one on the hill!”  
  
Jon shot him a distressed and annoyed glance. “Alright. Everyone retreat to...” He looked to Tormund. “Can you make up something that we can defend a bit better?”  
  
“No!” the DM quickly interjected. “No more making up landmarks!” He grabbed some of the scattered dice on the table and rolled. “You have no time for that. Look, two more of your scouts died!”  
  
“We still had scouts?” Jorah raised his eyebrows. “I thought they all died last week.”  
  
“If I had known we still had scouts left, I would have sent one of them to try and kill the boss,” Jon said. “Do we have any scouts left now?”  
  
The DM's smile disappeared and he began to search through his notes. “Maybe?” he mumbled and everyone sighed.  
  
“That's enough of your bullshit!” Tormund got up, glaring at the DM. “Make a choice now, do we have scouts, yes or no?”  
  
“The undead are attacking!” the DM yelled sheepishly. “All of them! Quick, you must retreat!” He kept flipping through books to find the missing notes, without success.  
  
“Tormund swings his axe at the dickhead DM!” Tormund leaned over the table, almost nose to nose with his target.  
  
“Tormund is dragged toward the hole in the ice, Tormund will drown if he doesn't save against it!” the DM squealed.  
  
“Sandor grabs Tormund and pulls him away from the hole!” Sandor yelled and threw the dice at the DM. Once they lay on the table, everyone's eyes rested on them.  
  
“Oh, fuck that,” the DM sighed. “Sandor saves Tormund from drowning...”  
  
Tormund laughed and sat back down. “So do we have scouts?” he picked up where he had left off a moment ago.  
  
“Not anymore,” the DM grumbled. “You had one left, but now he fell over the edge into the horde of undead.”


	6. Daenerys uses Enchantment

“Come to think, it's kind of ironic that I don't know much about hammers,” Thoros said and gave Gendry the freshly crafted hammer back. “Considering my name, the divine class and having a best friend nicknamed 'Lightning Lord', I somehow think I should be better informed... Anyway, my apologies for laughing at your points in Crafting. This sure looks like the grind paid out.”

Gendry smirked and glanced at the arcade machine in front of them. “And it screws us over much less at Whack-A-Lannister than it screwed over the idiots on their frozen rock.”

 

The storm outside dramatically pushed the tavern door open and a group of people, soaked wet to the bone, stumbled inside.

“You are in the presence of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons,“ a young woman declared and looked around.

Gendry nonchalantly turned around and nodded to the table with the party, still arguing about their approach to the next battle. “Took your sweet time,” he said. “They are waiting for you over there.”

The young woman nodded and and gestured to her companion to follow her to the table. “This is Daenerys of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons,” she repeated stoically. “Which of you is the party leader?”

 

“Jon is,” a voice from the pool table answered. “He's king in the North, a right proper lad and he was a year behind you in school.”

 

“ _You_ are Jon's girlfriend?” the DM asked, an enraptured smile on his face.

“She's not my girlfriend, okay?” Jon mumbled into his beard, ignoring Jorah's reproachful side glance. “Like Davos said, we just went to the same school.”

“Hm.” The DM leaned back and regarded the new arrivals thoughtfully. “You do look familiar, but I can't put my finger on it...” He reached for a stack of books without taking his eyes of the new player.

“Well, does it matter?” Daenerys asked and sat down between Jorah and Jon.

“Fuck, no,” Sandor answered. “All I want is to get on with this fucking campaign and that cunt is dragging on and on with his bullshit notes.” He nodded to the DM, who was now absently flipping through pages.

“Very well then.” Daenerys nodded and reached for the dice. “Where are we at?”

 

“We have captured the undead,” Jorah began, trying to sound mysterious. “Then the rest of them attacked and we had to retreat to a rock Tormund invented. And now we are stuck...”

“Oh, fuck you.” Tormund crossed his arms and glared at Jorah. “It's not like anyone was against the rock being there. We'd all be dead if I hadn't had the idea.”

“We also wouldn't be sitting around on it, get harassed by Jorah's invitations to play stupid games and wait for starvation to kill us,” Jon noted. “You could have made up a heavily fortified castle with supplies for years instead.”

“Oh, come on now.” Beric shook his head. “He has 3 Intelligence. Considering that, he's done pretty well. At 2 points, he might have given us an active volcano to hide in.”

“As if you would mind.” Sandor shot him an annoyed glance.

“I wouldn't mind,” Daenerys said. “Fire is a really good thing. In this situation and in general.”

“Just ignore the dumb cunt,” Jon sighed. “He's been whining about fire the entire time. Just do something to get us out of here. Gendry said you play a wizard. Teleport us or something.”

Daenerys shrugged and nodded. “Alright. Daenerys summons three full grown dragons with Flame Breath +5.”

Sandor blankly stared at her, Beric almost choked, trying to laugh and drink at the same time, everyone else looked slightly confused and turned to the DM.

 

“Ok.” The DM widely smiled at Daenerys.

 

“Ok?” Tormund slowly repeated. “That's all you have to say?”

The DM nodded. “What else do you want me to say?”

“How about 'you can't do that'?” Sandor suggested.

“Why would I?” the DM gave back and shrugged, then continued to smile at Daenerys and evade the piercing glares of Jon and Jorah.

“Because you didn't let me invent some stupid landmark for better defenses,” Tormund replied.

“Because you didn't let me summon a phoenix, which would have helped us out of this just as much as some dragons,” Beric added.

“Because you killed all our scouts and didn't tell us we even have them before doing so,” Jon said.

Jorah didn't seem to mind the sudden appearance of the dragons, but he felt he had to say something, just for the sake of solidarity. “Because you didn't even check her character sheet to see if she has that spell memorized.”

“Because fucking dragons breathe fire!” Sandor huffed.

 

The DM thought about all of it for a moment, then regarded Daenerys with an enchanted smile and shiny eyes. “Your points are noted,” he finally said. “But I have decided to allow it.”

 


	7. Samwell uses Daring Escape

“Get off my dragon!”

Daenerys angrily glared at Beric, Tormund and Jorah.

“Why? You have three! Let us have one, too!” Tormund gave back. “It's not fair the DM lets you have that many summons.”

“Jon summons Ghost,” Jon mumbled after a long brooding session.

“You ditched that skill for Grand Mastery Long Sword,” the DM calmly informed him. “You can't summon a wolf.”

Jon shrugged. “Worth a try,” he said and went back to intense brooding.

“Tormund summons Wild Bear,” Tormund tried his luck, but the DM quickly slapped his fingers away from the dice.

“You can only charm bears, not summon them!” he reminded the group and looked around. “And you don't need to try to summon a phoenix again,” he added when his eyes rested on Beric.

Sandor, meanwhile standing a few steps away from the table, breathed out in relief. “Good, there's enough fiery cunts here as it is.”

 

“Did you just call my dragon a cunt?!” Daenerys' head spun around to him. “You take that back!”

“He didn't,” Tormund interjected. “He meant to say _he_ is too much of a _pussy_ to get on the dragon, so we can finally leave.”

“Cut him some slack.” Jorah smirked. “Dragons are dangerous, after all. Look how the three of us are on fire. Aah, aaah, I'm burning, I'm burning, someone put me out, help, help.”

Sandor's eyes narrowed and he picked up the chair he was standing at. “I'm not a pussy, you cunt! You'll be sorry you mocked me!”

“Draca...” Daeanerys menacingly began, but the DM quickly interrupted her.

“Ooooh, look, the boss guy has a harpoon! I think you all need to work together to stop him or he will kill a dragon!”

“I'm all for it,” Sandor declared and tried to swing the chair at Jorah, but Jorah managed to duck under the blow and Sandor was stumbling backwards with his weapon.

“The boss throws his harpoon at one of the dragons!” the DM yelled. “You really need to stop fighting with each other now!”

 

 

“I don't believe this.”

Gendry leaned over the pool table to calculate his shot. “I bring them three dragons and instead of being grateful they can finally leave their dumb rock, they argue and probably get themselves killed anyway.”

Thoros shrugged and drank from his wine. “That whole mission was horseshit anyway. I bet all of the campaign notes got lost and the DM just made stuff up at random. If your friend with the dragons hadn't picked up the raven, he'd still pretend to be looking for them and have everyone play Tic Tac Toe on an island surrounded by zombies.”

Gendry aimed and took his shot, then sighed when the ball came to a hold just an inch from the hole. “The campaign you had before seemed to be more fun,” he said. “I should have joined you when you were still waylaying bandits.”

 

 

“The dragon falls from the sky!” the DM shouted, meanwhile standing up and leaning over the table, to see if Sandor and Jorah were even listening to him while they brawled on the floor, in the remains of a broken chair.

“Why does my dragon die because he made a dumb skill choice again?” Daenerys inquired, watching the DM quizzically.

“Don't take it personal,” Beric replied. “It's not the first time he let someone die because of that stupid Pyrophobic flaw.”

Daenerys nodded, though she still looked puzzled. “Well, I guess it comes with the job as Dungeon Master to play god and make such random calls mere mortals don't understand.”

 

“Jon charges at the boss with his Valyrian Steel Sword +5”, Jon said, ignoring the brawl on the other side of the table.

“What?” Tormund, Beric and Daenerys stared at him in disbelief.

“We have two dragons left,” Tormund said. “Just let her burn all the enemies and get out of here.”

“You won't have any left if those two idiots don't stop fighting,” the DM importantly declared, but it still didn't stop Jorah and Sandor. He looked to Daenerys, thought for a moment, then he leaned over to whisper to her. The longer he spoke, the more often she nodded and when the DM sat back down, she had a knowing smile on her face.

 

“The dragons breathe FIRE upon all the enemies”, she began. “They are all BURNING now. It is such a terrible, FIERY sight, Daenerys could really use a honorable KNIGHT to PROTECT her innocent eyes.”

Immediately, both Sandor and Jorah froze and stared up to her.

“As you wish, my queen!” Jorah jumped up and returned to his chair. “Jorah shields Daenerys from the terrible sight!”

Sandor shook his head and got up. “I'm fucking out of here,” he said. “Sandor gets on the dragon, as it is the lesser evil compared to you pyromaniacs.”

 

“JON CHARGES AT THE BOSS WITH HIS VALYRIAN STEEL SWORD +5!” Jon stubbornly repeated and everyone sighed.

“What the fuck, man?” Tormund and everyone else glared at Jon. “We agreed to burn the undead and leave. Get on the dragon already!”

“I want to kill the boss,” Jon gave back. “That's the goal of the quest, isn't it? We won't get any XP if we just leave now.”

“Hm, he has a point.” Jorah slowly nodded and thoughtfully reached for his ale. “Protecting my Queen from the terrible sight has restored enough Reputation for me to wield enchanted weapons. Would be cool if we could loot that harpoon from the boss, too...”

“Tormund gives Jorah his backup Dragonglass Halbert +3,” Tormund said and turned to Daenerys. “Now burn the fucking boss and get on the dragon.”

“I don't take orders from a Barbarian!” Daenerys protested and she had barely finished the sentence when Sandor got up.

“Enough is enough,” he said and huffed. “I'll be over by the arcade. Anyone up for a round of Whack-A-Lannister?”

“Just let me try to kill the boss!” Jon pleaded. Beric regarded him for a moment, then shook his head, got up and followed Sandor to the arcade.

“Alright, let's give it a shot,” Jorah said to Jon. “Jorah equips Dragonglass Halbert +3.”

Tormund rolled his eyes and sighed. “We get enough XP for the captured wight. But if you really need the stupid Ice Harpoon, knock yourself out. Tormund scouts for a bear.”

“How is that wight even still alive?” Jorah shook his head in disbelief.

 

The DM shrugged and sneakily tried to move his hand closer to Daenerys' hand on the table. In the process, he shoved his stack of notes off the table and as the pages went flying to the floor, it was obvious all of them contained nothing but doodles of Daenerys.

For a brief breathless moment, everyone on the table just stared at the scattered pages. Then all eyes slowly wandered back to the DM. Before anyone managed to put their anger in words, the DM jumped up, grabbed Daenerys' hand and pulled her toward the door of the tavern. “The DM and Daenerys ride into the sunset on a dragon!” he squeaked as they stumbled through the door to escape the wrath of the party, leaving Tormund, Jorah and Jon dumbfounded on the table.

 

 


End file.
